The Angel's Halo
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: A woman on a mission is not someone easily deterred. Especially if she adds to her original mission the protection of an Elite accused of heresy, and an unlikely and informal frienship with a Spartan. First Halo fic. M for violence and some concepts.
1. Chapter One

The Angel's Halo  
By: Sinead

Chapter One

_**Author's Note:** Okay, so this is my second Halo fic I've ever written, but hey, the first one's a crap romance and I don't feel like typing it all into the computer, as it's hand-written. So yeah. If I owned Halo, I'd be a rich lady, but seeing as I don't, I don't wanna claim it. All original characters copyright to me . . . but I wish I had the Arbiter. He's nifty!_

"Get-it-get-it-get-it!"

"Yes!"

"Got your back!"

"What! Hey! What did we say about the rocket launcher!"

"First come, first serve!"

"Jerk!"

"Awww, dangit! Hey, you! No sniping! That one was mine!"

"Then kill him before _I_ do!"

"Blasted Elite . . ."

"Come and get me, freaks!"

Willow watched the young recruits on the simulations, shaking her head. She'd seen the front lines, she's seen the ground-battles, and that was _not_ how most of the conversation sounded. More like wordless screams and curses that their mothers would have smacked them for. She looked to her left, starting, then remembering to salute as she didn't know his rank yet. "Sir!"

"At ease," the elder, if not higher, officer said in an almost-gravelly voice. He nodded with his chin to the kids in the four-AI-run simulation with amusement. "They suck."

Willow chuckled. "No kidding. Wait 'til they see their grades."

He smirked slightly, walking out of the shadows. Then the twenty-something woman saw that his skin was unnaturally white. Being completely Irish, she had inherited the white-white skin of her ancestors with the flaming red curly hair and clear blue eyes, but . . . he was . . . it was almost as if . . . No. Way. She continued watching the newbies, but aimed her question at the officer in his off-duty garb. "Might you be a Spartan, sir?"

"What tipped you off?"

"You're whiter than _I_ am. I'm the lightest on this station."

He watched her from the corner of his eye. "How would you know?"

"We got bored," she replied, amusement edging around her voice.

John, Spartan-117, looked down at her fully. "Bored."

"Yeah. Of course, that came after every other competition was exhausted once we finished building this useful hunk of metal."

He released a rare chuckle. "So can I put these kids on their toes?"

"How so, sir?"

"Up the amount of Covenant to ten times the amount of Grunts, three times the Elites and Jackals, then add in two sets of Hunters. Real fighting conditions."

"You want them to wet themselves, sir? They've never even heard of Hunters, never mind _seen_ one. You know that anyone who isn't in the military thinks that there are only three species."

"There's more than just that," John replied, letting his eyes catch hers and hold them. "Engineers, and two new species into the Covenant: Brutes and some insect-thing that ONI just called Drones. And there are some hints that there are more just waiting to be entered into the fight."

"I take it that it's now supposed to be general info around here."

"Yeah."

She called up one of her AI working on the simulation. "Keaton, you heard the Master Chief. Set these kids on their toes, see how they deal with it. Spread the word."

"Ma'am," came the calm, almost-amused reply.

And then chaos entered the equation. Another person walked into the room, and she heard the distinctive scowling voice of a man whom she had not yet had the pleasure of meeting. He wasn't as high on the ranking as her, but both of them saluted, each really more attentive towards how the recruits were dealing with more Grunts, Jackals and Elites than they could handle. He gave a satisfied grunt. "Good. That's the way to teach brats like them."

The rocket-launcher was soon depleted. She tsk-ed, sighing. "That went too quickly."

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Get outta me sights, then!"

"Blasted . . . I can't get a view!"

"Who threw that grenade! It nearly hit me!"

And the first set of Hunters entered.

Havoc ensued, and Willow sighed. "Keaton, Kenisha, Demetra, Agni, freeze simulation." She looked at the two battle-scored soldiers beside her. "If you two would like to help me show the them how _three_ can defeat a number that _fifteen_ has obvious trouble with . . . ?"

"Where's the door?" the larger man asked.

"Follow me."

She entered, whistling piercingly. "All right, you sorry lot! Against the back wall! You raunchy, dull-witted, no-good boot-lickers, you should _know_ how to fight an enemy of these numbers! Hey! You! I said, _against the back wall_! Did you _just_ make me repeat myself? Drop and do ten, kid! _Now_!"

They hastened to obey, all standing to attention but the unfortunate boy who was slow in responding. John and the Sarge had chosen two weapons each, along with four grenades; two frags, two plasma. Willow did the same, her battle-rifle at her right side, a sub-machine gun in her right hand. She picked up a fallen plasma rifle in her left, then looked at the other two with her, nodding. "Resume simulation."

The Hunters burst into charges, coming straight at them. John sped to one side of them, Willow and Johnson to the other, both men firing at the unprotected orange sides and backs, while Willow covered them, taking out an Elite and two Jackals, dropping the plasma rifle to lob a frag behind some oncoming Grunts. They blew into the air, spinning like tops. A plasma grenade soon followed the frag, this time sticking on an Elite's head and imploding just when he had ran near another Elite.

Gunfire from either side of her caused her to start firing, short, controlled bursts of the SMG at Grunts before ducking back behind a crate and reloading, grabbing her plasma rifle and spinning to take out a few more Jackals and an Elite before the next two Hunters came out. She dropped the SMG, switching the rifle to her right hand and grabbing for the perfect spherical plasma grenade.

John glanced at her briefly, and she nodded. Johnson would have their back.

She looked at the Hunter coming straight at her, and then dodged around to her left, priming the grenade and sticking it to the Covenant's back before leaping behind another large crate, melee-ing a Jackal that had unfortunately had wanted to catch its breath.

A blue-white light signified that the Hunter had indeed met its demise, soon followed by the second Hunter's gurgling howl as it "died."

"Halt simulation!" Willow barked, waiting until all the noise stopped. She stood, still wary, knowing that sometime the AIs liked to fool around, shooting at the kids. They were smart this time. Didn't want to get the senior officers angry, and didn't want to face the fiery wrath of the trainer. Good. Very good. They were learning. She looked at the two men, then at the recruits, indicating one of them by eye-contact. "You. What were you _all_ doing wrong?"

"Watching each other's back?"

"No, you were doing that. And letting them know that you were doing so. Drop and give me ten. Address senior officers as 'sir' or 'ma'am.' You've been through basic!" She chose another unlucky recruit. "What were you doing _wrong_?"

"Panicking, ma'am?"

"Why?"

"Because those two monsters came outta nowhere, ma'am."

"That's right. And what should you _never_ do on a battlefield?"

"Panic, ma'am."

"Right." She indicated the two men with her. "Both here know what they were doing because they knew what they were up against. They've been in the front lines, and if any of you are lucky enough to be fighting alongside Sergeant Johnson or the Master Chief, be _sure_ that you don't screw up and disgrace your training and your _species_. Get out, get showered, and be ready for inspection. Move!"

They _fled_.

Johnson chuckled. "Looks like they like you, ma'am."

"Gag me. They're all too young."

"Oh, really? And how old would you be, then?"

"Old enough to be _your_ adult child," she retorted. "And fully half your age, sir."

"Aw, now don't be nasty like that . . ."

The Spartan shook his head, smiling slightly. "You're giving the kids a hard time."

Willow nodded. "I'm going on an a recon mission in three hours. Their new trainer is here, and he's been watching me work with them. This was their last class with me."

"So where will the mission take you?" Johnson asked. "Or is that saying too much?"

She looked at both men, sizing them up, wondering how they would react. "Halo."

"Suicide," the Spartan snorted. "The place is teeming with Covenant. There's no chance that you'd get around them undetected."

Willow nodded sadly. "That's why I'm the only one being sent. I'm not supposed to come back."

"You're willingly letting the those motherless wastes of breath take you! Do you _know_ what nearly happened to Keyes!" Johnson hissed.

"Yes, I know. I know all about their torture routines, I know about their new additions into their troops, but there's only _one_ real reason why I'm the one who volunteered."

"You _what_!" both men said hoarsely.

She nodded, then replied in a completely different language, one that _wasn't human_.

"That's the Elite's language."

"Yeap. We can speak their lingo with some difficulty, but they can't speak ours."

John saw the determination, albeit a _frightened_ determination, in the woman's eyes. "You're a brave kid to be taking this on."

She smiled. "Yes, but at least I got a chance to see two of the UNSC's heroes before I left." The smile turned sad as she turned her face towards the deathly-white man. "And I got the chance of a lifetime, talking with the one man who I have always wished I could have met face-to-face."

John felt an uncharacteristic pang in his chest, the type of feeling he got before things turned horribly wrong. Swallowing, he saluted her wordlessly. She returned the salute, turned on her heel, and was gone. Spartan-117 looked to the sergeant, who sighed and looked away from the taller man. "If she gets killed, well, damn. I guess that I can only say I wish she was older."

"For a date?" John snorted.

Johnson shook his head. "No. So that I could have had her in my command group. She would've made one helluva field-leader."

John shook his head. "No. She would have made any Spartan jealous of her ability to face what she suspects is death, and most certainly _isn't_ favorable conditions, with a determination to see things through. If she were born maybe fifteen years earlier, she'd have been picked for the Spartan program."

"So is said Spartan jealous?"

"No. I . . . blast. I pity her. If she lives . . ."

"If, Chief. If."

John nodded, changing the subject. "So about that ceremony . . . ?"

"Yeah?"

"Cameras?"

"Nope."

"Fine. I'll wear my dress uniform."

"You'd better. That hunk-o'-junk suit you usually lug around ain't no good anymore."

"I _told_ you I'm getting a replacement . . ."

-

Willow taken off in the Longsword, careening though the blackness of space to get away from the Orbital Defense Grid before turning into slipspace. And it was time now to reenter the normal realm. She did so, seeing the curved, burning parts of a circle, as well as the Covenant ships swarming all over them. Pretending that she was trying to keep a low profile, she wove in and out of debris, knowing that all friend-or-foe tags would mark her immediately. And then . . .

They got her.

She took her hands off of the controls, glad now that she had reduced all weaponry to burning globs of slag before taking off. Her viewport changed from the star-ridden blackness of space to that of the inside of a Covenant ship, Jackals and Grunts bristling with weaponry, a few Elites among them. And a rather large albino Brute in the back, watching in slight interest.

_Blast, but he's ugly_, was the first thought that passed through Willow's mind. _Better not let him know that. He looks too dangerous for me to handle._

The rear hatch blew open, and three Elites stalked in. Willow held her hands up above her head and stood, turning to face them. The lead one was missing half of his left double-jaw, decked out in iridescent white armor, the other two in black. He walked up to her cautiously, leaning closer to click his remaining mandibles slightly. Willow swallowed, but didn't move a muscle. Something was odd about this Elite. Very odd indeed. Very _familiar_, too.

"Sir, she's–"

"Silence. She's coming with me to the Hierarchs. Bring her."

The two Elites hastened to obey, each taking one arm and following their leader. As they passed the large Brute, he chuckled, leering towards her. "She smells nice, for a human. I hope they'll allow me to _play_."

The Elites ignored him, as Willow tried hard to do.

She knew it would be hard.


	2. Chapter Two

The Angel's Halo  
By: Sinead

Chapter Two

Willow awoke with a groan, feeling old sore parts all over again, alongside new places that hurt. She had been beaten, interrogated, and raped, all with methodical indifference. Wincing, she pulled herself up to lean against the side of the metal cell she was in. Thankfully they had let her have a blanket, and this she used to wrap about her shoulders, bit by painful bit.

A scream echoed hauntingly, along with snickers from Grunts down the hall. "Teach that heretic right! Mark of Shame _stays_! Hooo!"

Heretic? Mark of Shame? That was new. Who was this heretic they were talking about? She jangled the bars. "Water . . ."

"Human thirsty _again_?" one of her five-foot, ugly-as-sin guards teased. "Not until _we_ get order! Drink bath!"

He hit the bars, causing Willow to jump back, but not before she saw the screen. It was an Elite that had apparently been accused of heresy. But why? An hour or so later, when she was bored and leaning against the outer door of her cell, the bars, she saw them dragging the Elite towards her. Driving her away from the bars with long staffs, they then threw him into her cell, knocking her up against the back wall while Tartarus grinned. "Have fun, human."

This time, the door slammed shut completely so that the only light was from the small overhead bulb-thing. Blast. They didn't even let her have the bars to jangle to annoy her captors. They were on the other side. Life is _always_ so full of disappointments.

Willow looked at the large amount of muscle, sinew and bone that was pinning her against the wall, all slumped in an unconscious state. She gently started to move him, but pulled her hand back out from where she had touched his chest. After quite a bit of huffing and getting her legs out from under the Elite, she turned him onto his back.

And saw the mark.

Swallowing, she went over to where a bucket of bathing water stood. If anything, these Covenant _abhorred_ being filthy, and had near-drowned her when she hadn't washed after a torture session once. A rag was in there, and for once, she was glad that the water was cool. Placing the wet rag carefully over the burnt skin, she looked at the first bare Elite face she had ever seen. They didn't look that fearsome, nor even that nasty.

His eyes opened. Willow backed up, away from him, keeping the blanket around her shoulders. The Elite watched her silently, placing one hand upon the wet rag. Neither said anything for a long while. Willow broke the silence. "Are you all right?"

The Heretic blinked at her in shock. She knew his language! Impossible! And furthermore, she had used the correct pronunciation, tense, and even the respectful additives that one would use in addressing one of the Elites on the Council! Not . . . not for one like _him_, marked and shamed . . .

"Sir?"

He blinked, sighing and nodded slightly. "Maybe."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know many words."

Chuckling lightly, the Elite replied, "That's more than what a normal human can say. I can translate your language."

"So can I," she replied, tapping the back of her skull, watching the Elite nod that it was the same with him. "That cloth should be warm by now."

He carefully peeled it from his chest, sighing, resting his hand over the burn, almost to prevent her from seeing it. She came close again, taking the cloth and putting it into the water, wringing it thoroughly before letting it soak in water again to be brought over to the Elite. He took it, asking, "Why do this for me?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I guess that it's because I don't like judging the species by the individual."

The Elite seemed to have trouble placing the rag upon his chest easily. Willow took it back, noting that his hands were shaking from the shock, and gently let it rest upon the burn. He sighed, letting the coolness of the water seep into his skin. "What do you mean?"

"One of your kind killed my brother in front of me."

"He gave you an escape. Honorable, for a human."

"No. I made my own escape. I killed the Elite with its two companions, two Jackals, and five Grunts." She sighed, watching his clearly shocked face. "Moved on once my brother had died, took out two Hunters, then rejoined with my squad with a shotgun to blast our way out of some hellhole that someone tried to make for us." A memory resurfaced, one of when she had given herself as POW, of the white-armor Elite, connecting it with another, and she shoved them back down. "And I know that you've killed at least fifteen humans. It's required of Elites in command positions."

"You killed three of my kind with ease . . . and . . . By the Prophets . . . you're . . ."

"I've actually killed many more than that, but what is it?"

"You perfectly fit the description of the one that blew the Spec-Ops Leader's left mandibles apart! The . . ." he started to scramble back against the wall. "The one whose only better is the Demon."

"The 'Demon'? Who's that?"

"Master Chief, in your words."

"Huh. No kidding. Hah!" She laughed kindly, then said, "I don't kill for fun or for sport. Nor would I kill _you_. You're obviously in the same kind of position that I'm in, and I haven't had any intelligent conversation for over a week."

"You would not kill a weakened foe in battle?"

"Battle's different. In battle, your people are continually trying to add _me_ onto their kill list. Dunno about you, but _I_ don't find that flattering."

The Elite clicked his mandibles in a way that sounded amused. _So he smirked_, Willow thought. His voice followed. "You know the Demon, I take it."

"Of him, yes. I had the honor of meeting him face-to-face before I went on my recon mission and was captured."

"So you've met him. Fearsome, isn't he."

"You sound almost as if you have a vendetta against him. Not that I would necessarily blame you, since you're Covenant and all."

Peeling the rag off of his chest, the Elite looked down at the mark. "I failed in my duty to safeguard Halo. The Demon destroyed it, so I am marked as a Heretic for not being able to have prevented something that I had no control over. Your Master Chief is my enemy. And if you be his friend, then you are my enemy as well."

"I said that I met him. I didn't say that we got to know each other."

Something opened the door, and the two prisoners looked up to see Tartarus. "Well. Looks like I'm going to have some fun with you two after all."

Willow swallowed, fearing what this "fun" would end up being. The last three times . . . it was hell.

-

"Human."

Willow passed out again. But the insistent whisper continued. "Human, wake up."

"Blast you, Elite . . . What."

"He'll pass you from one Sangheili to the next to be used . . ."

"Like he ordered _you_ to do? Yeah, I figured."

She started to slide out from under the Heretic, but he caught her right shoulder, shaking his head. "He's gone for one moment, to check in on a few of his other torture victims."

"Then why shouldn't I move?"

"Because he'll be back, and he told me to continue with you."

She watched alien emotions flicker over his face, then sighed. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Some Elites have used an old system called 'Claim' to prevent some humans from being passed from one to the next."

"Why do you care about me? I'm only a human . . ."

"But one that the Spec-Ops Commander respects for her wily ability to survive. You have something almost Elite about you, human. Something that makes me want to keep an eye on you."

Footsteps. Tartarus' footsteps. At the far end of the hall.

"Whatever it is, do it. I don't like this any more than you do."

"It will hurt . . ."

"_Do it_!" she hissed.

"You can use a sword?"

"Yes, but I don't see . . ."

"Which hand?"

"Right, but I can–" Many sharp, stabbing pinpricks of pain bit into her left shoulder. Yelping, she dug her fingers into his arms, growling curses out in many various human languages, but added in a few that she had picked up from the Covenant while being interrogated.

Tartarus entered, but Willow was just this side from passing out again. A snarl of many evil quantities emitted from the Elite above her, and the Brute snorted. "Fine. Claim her. I just came back to tell you both that you'll have a nice time watching each other be broken on the morrow, so rest up. I want fresh screams."

The door slammed shut, and with surprising agility, the Elite was off of Willow, over at the fresh bathing-bucket, and quickly bringing back a clean rag to press it over the small wounds. She glared up at him. "That. Hurt."

"It had to. Here." He picked her up, then wrapped the blanket around her before setting her upon the thinly-padded bed. She sighed, and looked up at the Elite as he wiped the blood free, inspecting each puncture-wound with care before tearing a small piece of the free end of the blanket off and putting a padded, clean rag over the wounds, tying it securely, if awkwardly. Willow watched him silently for a long while afterwards, seeing him sit back upon his haunches and watch her just as silently.

"What's your name, Elite?"

"I have none. I had a rank and a name once, but both disappeared when this mark was placed upon me."

"I can't keep calling you 'Elite,' you know."

"Tell me your name." His tone was imploring, quiet, not wanting to startle her with the strange new protective feelings that were running roughshod over him.

She gave the name she had taken on when she had married. "Willow Takayuurei."

"No rank?"

"I was a Sergeant-Major. Trained recruits how to deal with Covenant beasties."

The Elite clicked his double-jaw multiple times in amusement, leaning back upon his heels. "Did you tell Leader that?"

"Yeah. Told him some of the truth. Told that gorilla-thing all lies, though."

"He deserves nothing less."

Willow sighed, then looked up at the Elite. "So what can I call you? I definitely don't want to call you 'Elite,' and calling you 'heretic' feels the same as if you were calling me 'whore' or 'slut;' neither of us like it."

Wistfully sighing, wishing that he could call himself by his birth-name, he shrugged. "I have no use for a name, as being a heretic, I do not exist."

"C'mon, humor me. Can I name you?"

"Hah. In some human language? No."

"Not _any_ human language. The language of a society that had been born and bred into war-making and battle for thousands of years."

Willow's eyes were alight with knowledge and memory. It was the first time he had seen her face shine like this. "Go on."

"They were known for their relentless slaughter of their enemies, and if their lord died, they committed ritual suicide to save his and their honor. They used swords for battle; a long one in the right hand, usually, and a shorter in their left."

"What were you about to say before I put Claim on you?"

"That I use both arms for sword-fighting. I use their ancient style."

The Elite sighed. "Then I'm sorry I had not listened to you."

"Don't worry. I have the feeling that it will work out better than either of us had planned."

"Willow . . ."

The woman blinked. "You said that perfectly."

"Fortunately, it is a word that is like one of our own, meaning 'fire.'" He grinned. "So it suits you well. What would you call me?"

"It's long, I tell you."

"Oh?"

"_Satsujinhan'nin_."

"By all the Rings . . ."

"It means a professional killer or hitman. I just thought it sounded cool. There's another one, though, called _hirokiri_, which means the same."

The Elite came closer to the human again. For him to sit on the ground, his head was at her level while she was upon the bed. His voice was earnest. "Tell me more about this culture."

"They call themselves _nihonjin_, but to the others, they're called the Japanese . . ."

-

By the same time the next day, neither wanted to talk much about anything. Both curled up together in one corner, too stunned by the torture they had been forced to watch and the torture that had happened to them to do anything other than cling to one another. Willow couldn't stop shaking, even though she knew that it hadn't been as bad as the first two times she had been interrogated . . . but she didn't know why. Beside their torture, another Elite had been killed by slow dismemberment by a Brute, while Tartarus had preformed multiple acts of grotesque torture upon the human and the heretic, culminating it all up with a violent rape of each.

Willow still hadn't gotten the information she was sent to get. She was lucky, too, that she had been bed-partners with a man who she had loved, married, and had held while he had slowly died of needler-shards, knowing what true love-making was. Her mind would not be corrupted by this, she resolved. She would _not_ allow herself to be broken by that gorilla's temperamental treating of the prisoners.

"Willow?" a trembling bass voice asked.

"Yeah?"

"What would you name me?"

She buried her face into the warm neck, not caring anymore about the war that waged between their separate species. She needed to comfort another hurting soul, and she needed that comfort herself, but she wouldn't allow herself to retreat into her mind while this Elite was wounded far worse than she was. "I'd name you for strength or for pride."

"How can you say that?"

"Because in some cultures, the name someone was given could be changed, so they could either grow into a name, or have that name reflect what _they_ really were."

"You know that language, too, don't you."

"Strength is chikara or tsuyosa, and pride is jisonshin."

"I wouldn't want to be named after either."

"Tatsu, then."

"Meaning?"

"Dragon."

The Elite sighed, shivering and pulling the warm body of his Claimed against his own. "Dragons can be weak, sometimes. But . . . they are ferocious fighters. Call me by that, then. Dragon, not . . . that other word. It is too complicated."

Willow nodded, reaching back to pull the forgotten blanket up around both of them before tucking her head under his chin, resting her hand lightly upon the Mark of Shame. "Tell me more about Claim."

"You have to go where I go; do what I do."

"Even into death?"

"Possibly. Or you could continue my work past my death, even though the majority of the other humans here would not do so."

"You've taken human POWs?"

"Many. Most are looked upon as a novelty to own. But since you allowed yourself to be under Claim, you are many steps above being a slave. In Claiming you, I proclaimed that I felt you to be my equal or better, saving you from a worse fate."

Sighing, Willow shifted slightly. "Thank you."

The newly-named Elite smiled in his odd way, then settled against the wall for the night, still holding the human woman close as she fell into slumber. Strange feelings, these protective ones. Ones that nearly cost him, earlier today. She had not struggled, merely closed her eyes and seemed to send her mind _elsewhere_ . . . while Tartarus had enthusiastically raped her many times over. She never cried out except for when they had reopened painful wounds, or created more painful wounds.

He tried his level best to do the same, but always felt that he fell short.

Deciding not to think about it more, he rested his head upon Willow's left shoulder, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

-

Dragon had been dragged out of their shared cell sometime during the night, leaving Willow to pace and mutter to herself, wondering what could have happened to him. Just as she was pacing past the door, it opened, causing her to curse and leap backwards to rest in a fighting crouch, facing this strange Elite, flanked by . . . she grinned, straightened, and said, "So . . . you lived. Sorry that I had to blow half of your face away, but you have to understand that I was trying to save my own skin."

"Arrogant human. You're to accompany the Arbiter to help us subdue some _real_ Heretics. He has your armor and assignment." The white-armored Elite strode over to her and leaned down slightly, clicking his intact mandibles into their smirk while he whispered, "And I would like a chat with you as soon as we are able, hm?"

"You got it."

He turned and left, and this Arbiter took his helmet off, revealing him to be her Elite after all. She recognized an old, dimmed scar running down the center of his head. She sighed. "You, my friend, have some interesting explaining to be doing."

"I will." He replaced the helmet. "Come."

She picked her blanket up, wrapping it around her as she followed the Elite through the complex and to a residential area, opening the door to a single large room. He closed the door, soundproofed the room, and said, "I have been given a second chance, but slim. Being Arbiter is willingly asking for death."

Willow sighed, smiled, and nodded. "I understand."

"I want to know what you do about the Demon."

"In time. Right now, you have to show me what I'm going to be wearing, because I am _not_ running nekkid around these cold halls."

The Dragon Arbiter laughed, resting his arm around her shoulders, careful of the wounds and bites, showing her what she would be wearing. "But first, I'm _properly_ attending to those wounds. Mine already have been seen to."

"You can't get at the one wound that hurts the most."

"All your wounds will be treated," he insisted gently.

"My heart hurts more than anything physical."

"What do you mean?"

"I've held my brother while he died . . . and then did the same with my husband."

Arbiter crouched to come to her eye-level, then sighed. "I was wrong, then."

"Yes. But it's forgivable."

He nodded, changing the subject. "Willow, you . . . are . . . you are being made an honorary Elite, since you are my Claimed. I think that you will find that our brotherhood is . . . almost unusual for you. From what I know, it is closer than the tightest human military group."

Even though she doubted that, keeping the Spartans in mind, she asked, "Hey, Dragon?"

"Yes?"

Willow smiled up at the Arbiter before leaning her head against his lower chest, just under where she knew they Mark of Shame to be. "Just so long as I don't have to fight humans."

"No, Willow. I promise you that." He picked her up, deposited her upon a tall stool, and proceeded to tend to the scabbing cuts and wounds.


	3. Chapter Three

The Angel's Halo  
By: Sinead

Chapter Three

"Get _in_ there!"

"No! I'm fighting with you whether you like it or not!"

"You can't _drive_ one of these! Move!"

Snarling a livid curse, Willow barked, "Fine! But you'd better live, or I'll never forgive you!" She leapt into the beam, pulled up into the Phantom. The white-clad Spec-Ops Leader gripped her right shoulder as other Elites watched with amusement. Unlike the Brutes, they thought that those who had been Claimed had been done so for a reason, and most of them _weren't_ for sexual favors. A few wounded ones had seen her fight off Heretics, standing guard over them while an unwounded one picked them up and brought them off.

"You have a fine tongue, human, but remember not to argue with Arbiter like that around those who are _not_ of the Sangheili. The Jiralhanae would not hesitate to cuff one who speaks out of turn."

Willow nodded, still angry. The Leader nodded, seeing the want to do something. "You know first aid for my kind?"

"Not really. Only what I've learned from being around medics on the battlefield."

"Then I'll admit that it is more than what _I_ know. Tend to my Elites."

"Sir."

She turned to see who looked the worst, and one of the wounded indicated another lying on his side, breathing heavily. She nodded, walking over and pulling a first-aid kit off of the wall. By the third patient, the Leader suddenly was by her side. "I'm going back onto the station. Continue what you're doing." He lowered his voice. "Tartarus is on the other Phantom. This one is for Elites only, you included. I do not believe that he knows you are with us."

Willow nodded, her hands never stopping as she wrapped an Elite's upper arm. _Looks like Dragon will have more opposition than he knows about_, she whispered in her mind, resting her hand upon his unwounded shoulder before standing. His eyes caught hers, and he ducked his head slightly, which she had come to learn as being an unspoken "thank you." Uttermost respect between Elites was shown through either silent movements or meaningful grunts. Never was it spoken. She squeezed his shoulder again, moving onto the next wounded patient, who had just been brought up while she had been treating the last of the first group. Carefully taking off his helmet and handing it to him, she stanched the flow of blood from a nasty gash above the left eye caused by a lucky needler round, soothing him from panicking by resting her hand upon the right side of his face. He leaned the weight of his head upon her palm, a sign of complete trust. And that almost scared her that these aliens, whom she had killed without hesitation, were now trusting her with their very lives.

She sighed, treating the wound one-handedly, and by doing so, that reassured the Elite that she would help him and stay watch over him. But how did she know all these nuances in an Elite's body language? Shaking her head, she returned her mind to what was going to be happening below her, and who was with them on this mission. _Looks like we're not going to be getting rid of this Tartarus. Blasted gorilla._

-

Willow joined up with Arbiter after the mission was complete. He was weary from so much fighting, but only his eyes showed that much. She lowered her own eyes after a moment, then heard his bark, "Come."

They returned to the lodging he had been given, for a rest after the fight. His armor was stained with blood and the yellow-green pus from the Flood, hers from the blood of their comrades. She helped him out of it to discover that his wounds weren't all that bad, and that he didn't want her to worry herself over "trivial scratches." He walked to the large, soft bed, curling up without another word. Willow smiled sadly, watching him fall asleep almost immediately, then set about getting her suit off so she could clean them both. She still had energy to think, and she wanted to exhaust herself so she would sleep deeply.

After shining both sets of armor, she set them out neatly on their separate racks, stripping out of the underlayer, picking up both hers and Dragon's to deposit them into a cleaning unit. Another set had been brought for both of them, and Willow could already tell that this one would fit her better, more snugly.

"Why are you still up? Get over here."

"Hah. Make me. I feel so gross right now, you have _no_ idea . . ."

"You can clean yourself tomorrow. I want you to stop making noise so I can _sleep_."

"Spoilsport."

"What? Oh, I'm not spoiling anything. You just didn't interpret that correctly."

Willow laughed outright, walking over to rest her hand upon his chest, feeling that the burn-scar was still warmer than the rest of his skin. She reached over to pull down the burn treatment, rubbing it carefully in. "Hold still."

"It hurts."

"So does my heart, but gentle words still soothe the pain, sometimes."

Arbiter took this in silently, noting the tears forming in his Claimed's eyes. "The Spec-Ops Leader asked me how I had tamed you."

"Hmph. He asked _me_ how I had kept you from being completely broken."

"I'll show you how I tamed you."

"Ooh, a threat?"

He grabbed her, his suppressed childlike playful side getting the better of him in his tired state, and proceeded to pin her down while pressing the front of his face to her left shoulder lightly. She sighed deeply, then asked, "When you first laid Claim . . . and when Tartarus opened the door, you sounded so . . . evil."

"The snarl?"

"Yes."

Arbiter sat up, but still knelt over the human. "That is because it is pure instinct to protect the Claimed. It originally had been only used for . . ."

"For?" Willow prompted.

He seemed embarrassed. "Mate-for-life."

"So it's all inbred to keep a chosen mate safe from all harm. That explains it all. And these other Elites that had used Claim?"

"Were all like me: No mate, no prospective mate."

"Dragon?"

"Yes?"

"I can't feel my legs."

"Oh, I can fix that . . ."

Willow giggled.

-

The two walked in for debriefing the next day, passing honor-guard Elites that were taking off their ceremonial helmets which were rudely snatched up by the Brutes. Glad that the helmet masked part of her face, Willow walked behind and to the right of Arbiter, a position, he said, was ceremonial for an assistant of her rank, now that she was Claimed, armored, and understood more of what was going on around her.

But he still felt the waves of pure hatred radiating from the human the moment she saw the Prophets. Which he didn't understand in the slightest.

The Spec-OpsCommander left, passing them with a few of his officers andnone too happy. He glanced down at Willow for a second, then at a place, narrowing his eyes just that tiniest bit. She blinked in reply, still automatically measuring her paces to match Arbiter's, but heading to stand at the mark she had been told to. The older Prophet watched her warily while she stood to an indifferent attention.

Afterwards, and once they were gathering supplies for the next mission which led down to the new Halo, Arbiter asked, "How did you know where to stand?"

"The Spec-Ops Commander."

"He said nothing, though."

"Verbally. He glanced at me, then the spot where I was to stand."

"You're learning. Good."

"Who's the leader for this operation?"

"Tartarus."

"Greeeaaat. Another thing I love about being under your Claim."

"He will not risk the Hierarchs' anger by usurping something that has been Sangheili tradition since before Covenant. Our Prophets understand our Claim, and more, they _support_ it completely. For a Brute to try to have relations with one under Claim, _regardless_ of consent . . . well, we shall say that it had been tried before. And the Brute was dealt with slowly and painfully."

Willow looked up at the Elite, now an individual whom she trusted her life with. "And he will not touch you as you are the Sword of the Prophets."

"He _cannot_ touch me. Only an Elite can become Arbiter. Only an Elite can replace an Arbiter." He smiled through his eyes. "But never has an Arbiter had such a strange assistant. Look at this, all pink flesh, strange curves in strange places, and no real natural defenses! Plus, those eyes are odd enough, and the hair . . . simply astounding! Are you completely sure that is your natural color?"

The human laughed, accepting his teasing. "Keep packing, oh Glorious One, or I'll get nasty right back at you!"

-

Battles innumerable against the relentless Flood. Arbiter stopped for breath, feeling Willow at his side, pressing her hand upon his own, feeling her raise it up to her cheek. "Don't give up now."

He shook his head. "Catching my breath."

Willow blinked, then turned, hitting the Elite's button for his active camo, but didn't get a chance to do so herself, as the two humans had already seen her. Sergeant Johnson looked at her in complete shock as the woman to his left frowned. "What's this?"

"Commander Keyes, I would like to introduce you to the lovely lady-officer Sergeant-Major Willow Takayuurei."

Willow removed her helmet, ignoring the Arbiter, giving him cover. "You flirt, Johnson. What's happening?"

"Oh, us? We're looking for the Index, so we can stop this thing from activating. What in the seven circles of hell are you _wearing_? Is that _Covenant_ material?"

"Long story, Sarge. One that has to wait until the ending is found, and all the loose ends are tied. I'm still on mission."

"Son of a . . . Sargeant! I found it! Just a little further . . ." Commander Keyes' voice said.

"Hold on a sec, cutie." He winked, then walked nonchalantly over to the vine Keyes was holding onto, catching it just as it broke. "Y'know, your father never asked me to catch him either."

"Look out!" Keyes yelped.

Willow ducked and rolled, seeing the shimmering lines of the Arbiter dodge bullets and knock the gun from Johnson's hand, leering closer into his face. The human grinned back up at the Elite. "Well, hello."

"Don't hurt him!" Willow hissed. "Arbiter, listen to me."

"He's known to the Covenant," the Elite growled.

"Yeah, and so'm I and the Chief. Now _put him down_."

Johnson looked from the girl to the alien, who sighed mightily, and placed him upon the ground again, backing off. "I do not like this."

"I know." Willow looked back at Johnson. "Sir, there are many things going on _inside_, but you have to let me ride this wave out."

"You're comin' back with us, right?"

Willow shook her head, unable to look at the two officers. "There are some things that mean more than simple warfare. You'll see soon, Sarge, and–"

A magnetic field caught Keyes, dragging her towards what looked like an ugly albino gorilla. A second Brute knocked Johnson unconscious, then dragged him over to Tartarus, who merely grinned, and aimed his hammer at the Arbiter, sending him flying towards the pit. Willow grabbed his arm, stopping him from being sent off completely, but then felt an electric ball hit her, sending her flying into oblivion . . .

-

Words . . . voices . . . her head felt fat . . .

Memory.

"Arbiter!"

She felt the sensation of being lifted high, then saw the biggest maw of her entire life. "Of all that is holy . . ."

"Which, little human, I am _not_," the thing said.

She twisted, seeing Arbiter glowering towards the Master Chief. "Hey, will you knock that off, Dragon?"

"I will not! You have not told me that which I want to know!" he snapped.

She felt the tendril move her so that she was between the two. The maw opened. "You of small nature and stature know evils beyond speaking and thinking. Share what there is to know."

The Master Chief looked at the human girl. "So how's your mission going?"

"With all due respect, sir, you can wait until I'm done with _him_. Besides." She grinned lopsidedly at him, winking. "We'll meet again. I'm sure." She aimed her formidable glare at the hapless Elite. "You want answers, you thick-headed poor excuse for a warrior!"

"How _dare_ you!"

"Does Claim mean that you will try to make me feel inferior? Does it mean that I'm the one that is always at the butt end of jokes, of you pitying me? I'm sick of the glances you give me, thinking I don't see you. I'm sick of the pity that you _think_ I need, since you don't really know how a human mind works, wondering how I'm dealing with the fact that I've been interrogated, tortured and raped by that idiotic, scum-sucking waste of life known as Tartarus! Now knock! It! Off!"

Arbiter was struck dumb.

John chuckled. "So you miss your recruits, Sergeant-Major? That was a fine speech." His demeanor sobered. "But it seems that you've been through a lot since we've last talked."

Willow felt the tendril upon her loosen and shift so that she was no longer being suspended, but more so that she was sitting. She aimed a thankful glance over her shoulder before replying. "Yeah, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm stressed." She looked up at the Elite. "I'm sorry, but some things that need to be said . . . _aren't_."

Arbiter nodded, replying, "Questions can wait. As can answers. But . . . are they right in saying that Halo is a weapon?"

Willow nodded. "And it's designed to obliterate anything that the Flood can use as a host. I'm sorry that you have to learn this the hard way."

Arbiter shook his head, reaching out to Willow, who gripped his hand firmly. "Atta boy. So does that explain a bit more about the Demon?"

"Demon?" John asked.

"You," Willow replied, smiling, ever irrepressible. "But really, I'd like to see him react to you as _you_, and not as the Chief."

The Spartan looked at Arbiter, seeing the Elite watch him not with anger and hatred as before, but now with confusion and a wary, wavering trust. He sighed, looking back at Willow. "Kid, I'd love to see his face."

"Then you will. Promise me that you'll live."

"As long as you two do."

They nodded, seeing John, Master Chief, Spartan-117, the Demon, nod as well. And they were thus sent on another mission.


	4. Epilogue

The Angel's Halo  
By: Sinead

Epilogue

People were back aboard the Cairo, watching as swarms of fighters came and waited in formation. Master Chief looked at Lord Hood, who seemed twitchy about this new alliance. But the elder man sighed, shaking his head as the out-of-armor Spartan stood at ease behind him. "Where's that emissary?"

"Coming. Aboard one of those craft."

The AI, a fully-trained Agni, appeared upon the pedestal, his face grave. "We're being hailed, sir."

"Which one?"

Agni pulled up the grid, pin-pointing the craft. "That one."

"Put it through."

A smiling, familiar face appeared, framed by red hair while she talked at someone off-screen, her head propped up on a fist. "Yeah, well you can take that attitude and stuff it, for all I care." She grinned. "Not that I _do_, really, but . . ."

Lord Hood cleared his throat, causing the woman to look at the screen, snapping to attention. "Sir! Sergeant-Major Willow Takayuurei reporting in."

"And the report is, Sergeant-Major?"

An inquisitive Elite face looked over her shoulder, causing her to curse and shove him away. "Successful, if trying my patience."

"Mah! Like you would have patience in the first place?" came the translated reply.

"Arbiter, I'm talking with my superior here. Shut. Up."

The Chief let one corner of his mouth twitch in a grin, but suppressed it as Lord Hood let Willow back on board the Cairo, then cut the communication and look at John. "Go and greet them."

"Yes, sir."

And thus when Willow appeared at the door on the side of the fighter before the Arbiter did, she smiled, dropping to the deck. Nervous UNSC military members watched as the eight-foot Elite did the same, but his attention was upon the woman. "You said that someone would greet us."

"And I am," came the gravely voice from Gravemind's cavern.

The Elite looked at the sad-eyed man, seeing skin that should never be that white, noting a great intelligence behind those eyes, as well as the knowledge that this should be a rough transition period. But how could this sad-eyed man kill so many?

Willow had long discarded her helmet, and she stood between the two who had both been deemed outcasts by their respective peoples. "Sir, I want to formally introduce you to Arbiter, sometimes called Dragon. Arbiter, this is the Master Chief, Spartan-117."

"Called Demon by your kind." The eyes started taking on warmth. Tension bristled upon all sides, but the three in the center of the room took no notice as the Master Chief held out his hand, saying, "And I am honored to meet the one who has kept our intel officer safe."

Arbiter clicked his double-jaw in a smile, taking the human's hand and squeezing it firmly, replying, "And it is an honor to meet the human who has evaded all attempts that were sent to kill him. I thank you for giving this woman her dreams and aspirations. She has also saved me in many times when I didn't have strength left."

Their hands parted, and the three walked back to where Lord Hood was monitoring movements of craft and such, each matching their paces in a perfect parade march.

It was the beginning of a new era in the human-Covenant war.

And there were many new facets to explore.


End file.
